


Tactile Habituation

by theAsh0



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: F/M, M/M, tumblr: kakavegeweek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2020-01-11 21:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18432365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theAsh0/pseuds/theAsh0
Summary: 'Thank you, wife, for providing the word.' Vegeta had known it was something short and disgusting-sounding.





	Tactile Habituation

**Author's Note:**

> written for the kakavege community! special thank 2 David for reading and thinking it worthy of posting.

“Why does he have to keep _doing_ that?”

“Doing _what?_ ” Bulma doesn’t even look up from her magazine. Stretched out on her recliner next to the pool, legs flipping above her bikini-clad back as she rests on crossed arms. Vegeta would be worried about those so called warriors ogling his wife.. but, the sun-screen kind of ruins the picture. Not even master Roshi would dare touch her when covered with that stinking white grease.. So he hopes.

“That.. _this!_ ” Vegeta tries again, desperately gesturing at that orange-clad receding back. Because, fuck, he may have allowed himself to be roped into another useless party —a _pool_ party, no less— but he certainly hadn’t willingly signed up for this.. this debauchery of a greeting. “It’s not seemly.”

Interest finally peaked, Bulma finally props up onto an elbow to look at her husband. She runs an appraising eye over his posture, arms tense over his chest and feet planted as he rigidly sits on the side of a second pool recliner. He’d dropped himself there, after what he just suffered through; this time, with nothing but a pair of swimming trunks to protect himself from the other Siayan. Vegeta shudders. The thing. Each and every time..

At her inquiring raised eyebrow, Vegeta tries to describe said thing. Words can never do such a horror justice, but he thinks he can do a decent impression; groping claws, thrown wide, then grabbing and squishing, A cheek, rubbed mushily against him. For good measure, to portray Kakarot, Vegeta drops his jaw, letting his tongue loll out in a perfect combination of stupidity and lewdness.

Bulma taps her magazine, head dropping to the side. Like somehow Vegeta’s impression left any doubt at what kind of disgusting act he could be describing. Like the woman can’t quite translate his meaning. Like there was any question what could have upset the Saiyan prince. Like Vegeta was somehow not in his right mind to take offence… offence at this definite, very obvious and serious.. offence!

“Is this about the hug?”

“Yes!” very much so. And thank you, wife. For providing the word. Vegeta had known it was something short and disgusting-sounding. One of those one-syllable grotesqueries. Like fuck. Or poop. He’d probably just suppressed it. A fair defence by the subconscious after the mental scarring the term tows in its wake.

Bulma sits up, dropping her own bare feet to the ground as she takes a position across from her husband, so she can look him in the eye. “You know he doesn't mean anything bad by it? He’s just being _Goku._ ”

“No he’s not,” Vegeta snaps back, “he’s overstepping his boundaries.”

“Goku doesn't have boundaries.”  Bulma laughs, a white-lathered hand up to her mouth. “Stop being such a prude. I’m sure he’s not coming on to you or anything.”

The Saiyan prince untangles his arms with some difficulty, clawed-hand grabbing purchase at his knees. He cannot help but feel somewhat betrayed by her flippant rejection. But at the same time Vegeta knows his views of the galaxy don't always coincide with those on Earth.

The place where he grew up is infinitely different than his son is enjoying now. Not necessary worse, mind you. Trunks has a reputation, expectations and responsibilities to maintain. The boy can never cut loose, for fear of hurting someone. Can never just skip school, or just hang loose and act like a brat, secure in the knowledge that all witnesses will likely be dead before the day is up.

Yet safer, the boy’s life definitely is. Vegeta grew up in a world where every act, every word is an act for power, a play for dominance. Frieza’s world was one to sleep with one eye open, and a wall to your back. Back then, Vegeta never touched anything without the intent to harm, usually not without the intent to kill. And he certainly did _not_ let anyone touch _him_.

But none of these instincts have served Vegeta on earth. And even he understands the need to change. Would have understood this fact without his woman had not been on his case about it all the time as well. And he knows he needs to give his son at least the tools to function in this society. So Vegeta does try. Try to be nice, to praise the boy, even smile. Yes; on occasion even _hug_ him.

All well and all, but Trunks is his son. Vegeta has learned to compartmentalize the need for physical affection within a family. _Kakarot,_ however, is _not family_ , and any touch between them should be about asserting who is the greater warrior. Sparring is as close as he will get to the man; for Kakarot is _too dangerous_ for anything more. Even that is skimming the line for Vegeta, for try as he might, one does not so easily forget a live-time of teachings.

“How can you be so sure about that?” Vegeta demands.

Bulma smiles at him as she stretches, cheek dropping down on a forearm as she lazily reminisces. “Ah, I know Goku. I’ve known him since forever, remember? And he’s still as sweet and  innocent as a child. Trust me!”

Just as she winks to her husband, in a gesture of goodwill, a pair of boys blur past. Trunks, as usual accompanied by his shadow, Goten. Bulma smiles wanly after the pair, but sombers after a moment, a turns her head slowly to the other side, to stare at Gohan. Vegeta can nearly see those wheels turning as the woman comes to an insight; her little Goku has sired _two children_. “Though, I suppose, not quite that innocent.”

She blinks again, brightening. “Hey, if I’m wrong, and he does proposition you, can I watch?”

Vegeta makes a gurgling sound, somehow never prepared for his wife’s twisted humor. “I’d rather cut off _both_ my arms and eat them.” but he overcomes his blush with a wicked smirk. “You can watch _that_ , if you like?”

“Gross Vegeta!” she turns up her nose at him. “Special notice, your wife is _not_ turned out by amputation or dismemberment. Ok?”

Vegeta snorts. “You wound me woman; and you’ve certainly hidden your disgust of me well in the past.”

It still takes the self-proclaimed genius a whole five seconds before she exclaims “Oh, right! The _tail!_ Sorry, I forgot about that.”

Vegeta snorts one more time. That must be nice..

 


End file.
